Come Casual

A small, dusty Texas town where no trees grow
Without being watered was OK for a sixth grade boy
Who did not know any better. There was no link
To the outside world with television so I
Didn’t know much anyway.

Barracks type buildings from the closed, World War II
Army base had been moved and converted
Into class rooms on the grounds of the junior
High school – and that was OK too.

We six graders started band in one of those barracks
And I played the clarinet. I played clarinet
Because my mother had found a used one cheap.
The problem was mine was shiny metal and the other
Clarinet players had black ones.

A boy named Gene sat next to me
In the clarinet section. He sat one seat closer
To the front row because he played a little better
Than I did. Gene was not corpulent
But he was somewhat overweight, I would
Call him soft. He was not athletic
And walked with a shuffling, pigeon-toed gait. His hair
Was a lighter shade than blond but I don’t believe
It was white. However, his most remarkable
Feature was a silver metal cap on one of his front
Teeth. I now know caps like that are the most
Inexpensive way of fixing a broken tooth.
He smiled frequently and pushed his glasses up
With the backside of his index finger. He
Was not one of the in-crowd and I was.

Gene and I had a conflict, the cause
Of which I don’t recall – nor what happened
Afterward. Regardless, I was trying to prove
To him I was somehow better off
Than he was.

In our town movies changed three times a week,
One on Saturday, one on Sunday and one
(only your mother would go to) in between.
I told Gene I went to all three movies
Every week. (This was a lie – I only
Went on weekends). He told me he did too.
Desperate for something to one-up him with I
Said at least I did not live on the north
Side of the tracks. He probably had never thought
About where he lived. He just stood looking with a wide-eyed
Stare like someone who had been stabbed in the heart with a knife
And was still alive to feel It. I had won.

The memory of his face burns in my mind
And haunts my heart so I cannot forget.
Gene, I am sorry.

rlkilgore

Growing up in Texas.  I’m on the right and my amigo is now mayor of Rockport, Texas.

As far back as history records
there seems to be,
Even with skeptics,
A universal craving for life
To continue after death.
Religions are a means
Of organizing the afterlife
Into a form the mind
Is able to manage.
But, is the notion
of life prior to birth,
Which human senses lack
The capacity to recall,
Any greater reach?
Perhaps we are a cosmic existence
Of which life on earth
Is an interlude,
A sojourn, a vacation -
For some a pleasant week
At the beach and for others
A nightmare
Where all the flights get cancelled.

                                rlkilgore

My son-in-law bought a limo so he and my daughter could go on trips with the kids and roll up the window between the front and back.  They recently took so many people on a trip to Florida that they could not get all the luggage in it.